


All That We Leave Behind

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Gen, In a weird way a Samulet Fix It but not quite, One Shot, Samulet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 02:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: A snippet of what was going to be a longer fix-it fic, I think, but there's no way I could restructure it now, so I present to you what I could salvage. Older fic I will not be editing past this point.Summary: Castiel finds his Creator and is given one wish. It does not have equal results on everyone involved.





	All That We Leave Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirensnares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirensnares/gifts).



> I can't "fix" this for a variety of reasons and this is the most Castiel I've ever written. It's not resolved in any way but as this is my best Castiel scene I am posting it.
> 
> Not too much extra fic to post still but it'll keep coming.

The air was thick with new-found silence as Castiel stood in the clearing. The ground was covered with blood, some of it his own, in sigils and wide swaths surrounding one of three bodies on the forest floor. He had not acted quickly enough, but his vessel still held him, as did the earth, and Castiel understood from his long months upon this world that this alone was cause for what the humans called hope. He stood within the circle of his own blood, spread against the darkness of ash that now blew in from every direction off the burning lakes. He removed the amulet from the pocket of his jacket and swung it in a wide arc. The air shone with the brilliant white light of his birthplace, rippling with power. 

The body amid the sigils began to seize, and Castiel lunged forward to hold her still. He pinned her arms down, watching as her head flew back a final time and light erupted from her, shooting out in all directions until the whole clearing was alive with the presence the vessel had held. The eyes shown bright, calming blue in a sea of white that surrounded them all.

"Father," Castiel said with sudden awe. "I have found you. I have searched this world over and now you are here,"

 _It seems that I am._ The woman stood and watched Castiel but her lips did not move. Castiel felt the sudden familiar comfort of celestial communication as his Father's words moved directly into his consciousness. _There has been much blood shed._

"Yes, Father." Castiel cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I have grown accustomed to the habits of the humans and I--"

The woman--his Father's vessel--waved her right hand in a gesture of dismissal. _You have awakened me._

"Yes, Father. The others have lain siege in displeasure at your absence but I could not give up hope for your safe return."

 _I see. And?_

"And?"

_Do you wish something, Castiel?_

"I..."

Her laughter was like music moving through the darkness and her smile bright in her face. _You know that you cannot keep your wish from me, my son. Though you are aware you will have only one granted to you._

"Yes, Father."

 _You are quite fond of that term, my son. I believe there is another which may be more appropriate to my chosen form._ The woman waggled an eyebrow at him. _Nevertheless, speak as comforts you, I suppose._

"I... have never had a... mother before," Castiel offered.

 _You think not?_ The woman smiled. _Am I not all things, Castiel? But never mind that. I come here only to end this cycle. And it is nearly complete. Your wish. I would have you speak it._

"Father, the Winchesters have served their highest purpose. I only wish for respite for them. Only I fear that... manipulated as they have been... they will remain on opposite sides of a war that was never truly theirs. I... am hardly worthy, but if my wish is asked of me... it is that these two be given a chance to... to mend what has been broken between them."

_And would you have them remember?_

Castiel thought of the burning lakes, the constant fire-line on the horizon and how Dean's shoulders had hunched, his voice going low and rough as he said, "Thought I left all this lake of fire bullshit downstairs. Guess I wasn't that lucky, huh, Cas?"

He hadn't said anything then, but Dean had proven right many times before.

"Father, I believe that it is enough that they have served. I do not ask you to grant me this, though I have maintained my faith. I feel that the memories of time in Lucifer's domain were egregious for your son, my friend, Dean, and--"

 _Yes. The circumstances... were what a human might call unfortunate,_ A pensive expression settled on the vessel's face. _And what of Samuel?_

"I do not know, Father."

_He remains... unique. His memories have been altered before, without lasting success. He may... wish them back. Or not to part with them at all._

"Yes, I am aware."

 _This wish falls upon your shoulders, then, my son. As the one who has sought me, you have served me well, as have the brothers Winchester. I happen to know know just the trick. What is wished away shall be taken._ His Father's vessel offered another bright smile and snapped her fingers.

The clearing brightened suddenly with the natural light of day, and the air became clear of ash and smoke. The sky was overcast with the exception of one bright break in the clouds. His father's vessel slumped to the ground once more, the light gone from her eyes. Castiel looked down upon the Winchester brothers and in their place he found two young children. _So it is finished. Fly them to safety, my son_ , came his last instructions, as his Father's light began to seep from the land once more, rising up and away.

Castiel unfurled his wings, pulled them around the two boys, and took off.

*~*~*

Sam woke suddenly, shivering. That was the first sign that something was wrong. He hadn't felt cold in weeks, at least. 

He peered around, finding himself in near pitch-black, but his eyes adjusted quickly enough. He looked down to see himself lying on what couldn't be more than a twin bed, and his first thought was _Panic room_. But the space, while small, wasn't cylindrical. Across from his own bed there was a second, topped with threadbare sheets and an army blanket that covered a small human frame. His eyes traveled the length of the form in the bed until he saw a boy's head peeking out from under the army blanket. The kid sported a crew cut, and he looked so much like Sam's dim memories of Dean at that age, he almost smiled.

Sam swung his legs out of the bed and--holy shit, the ground was far. He hit the floor and his bare feet nearly froze to concrete floor. Basement. They were definitely in some kind of basement, he and this kid.

He was standing; he had to be standing. But there was no way.... He was barely taller than the bed. _Great. Middle of the apocalypse, no idea where I am, there's a kid here, and I've_ shrunk.

Sam sighed. _Okay, well, first things first, at least I'm me_ he thought, and he actually felt a few seconds of relief before familiar bitterness flooded through him. 

He took a look around the room. There were bags of rock salt piled high in the corners of the room, and metal barrels along the walls. Sam crossed to them and tapped one hard enough to hear the insides slosh. They were just the kind that Bobby used to keep in his cellar, full of holy water. Correction: in the front of his cellar. Sam shivered again, _Jesus Christ, Sam, get a grip._. It'd been nearly a year, but he was pretty sure he was done with feeling safe in basement rooms, no matter who they belonged to or what was in them. 

_Hunters_ , Sam thought, and stiffened reflexively. (Gordon's smile, ferocious, _I know who you are, Sam._ Hank holding him down, the fresh blood of a demon pouring into Sam's mouth. Swimming up from unconsciousness to find Tamara, spread-eagled and keening as Lucifer's--Sam's--power ripped into her flesh.)

However Sam had gotten here, he couldn't have come of his own free will. Had he been captured? The last thing he remembered--

A sound from the other side of the room caught his attention. The little boy in the other bed shifted. He turned onto his left side to face where Sam had been sleeping a moment before. Sam watched him take stock of the empty bed, green eyes going wide. Sam's heart started to pound in his chest. He knew those eyes. He knew that look. It had been months, maybe even years, since he'd been able to recall much of his life Before, but now, looking into those eyes filled with naked concern, everything came rushing back to him. Everything. 

_Dean_.

It had to be a trick. A glamour or a dream or some kind of new hell Lucifer had invented for him to live in while he ravaged the world wearing Sam's face.

But the boy--Dean--called out in a frightened voice, "Sammy?" and that voice was Dean's too, from so long ago, and if this was all of Lucifer's making, Sam knew right then that he didn't care.

He realized Dean couldn't see him in the darkness of the room and he moved back toward the empty bed. "Yeah?" Sam said. His voice had shrunk right along with the rest of him. He couldn't help staring as he waited for a reply. Everything was--was _Dean_. Freckles, crew cut, big eyes. The kid had gotten to his feet and was even doing the standard Jesus-Fuck-It's-Cold-Out-Here Dean huddle. 

Dean caught sight of him and brightened briefly, relief painted clear across his features. "Hey, shrimp," he said. Then his expression turned serious. Sam could practically see his brother's mind working to find something he could ask his little brother--apparently his very little brother--about where the hell they were. Sam thought back, trying to remember when he'd last seen Dean's expression this open and vulnerable. Sam watched him look around, catching sight of the hunting supplies in piles all around them. Recognition flashed across his face and then Dean steeled himself, swallowed hard, and plastered a smile on over his worry. He seemed to finally settle on something to say, because the next thing Sam knew Dean was opening his mouth. "We're okay, Sammy," Dean said, "We're with friends. Dad'll be back soon."

_Oh, shit._

* * *

"Do you trust me?" Sam asked, his voice tiny and wavering like such a goddamn little kid. Damn it. This was fucking serious. Dean didn't look like he was about to bolt, but Sam knew damn well he could if he wanted to and he had to get through this without that happening. Sam's legs were short and pudgy and so were his hands and he wasn't going to get very far trying to hold Dean down. If this was Dean. Sam held back a groan. With his mind clear of Lucifer's presence--for the moment--Sam found his thoughts free to wander to time it _hadn't_ been Dean at all. He closed his eyes briefly, willing away the memories with all he had. 

"What kind of stupid question is that, Sammy?" Dean asked. He sighed heavily. "Did you have another dream?" Sam knew he needed to be careful, knew he was supposed to be getting this Dean to prove himself, but at the kid's words Sam was so overwhelmed with relief that he went weak with it, falling back into a sitting position on his bed.

"No dreams," Sam said.

"You sick? Did these fu-- I mean... did something happen to you?"

Sam smiled. He definitely couldn't remember a time when Dean had watched his mouth around him. "Not sick," he said. "I'm okay, Dean, really, I just...."

"Don't lie, Sammy," Dean said. "You do _not_ sound okay." His face lost that open quality and Sam winced. He was already screwing this up so damn bad. _Yeah, because there's totally a simple way to handle this. Easy as pie, Sammy._ That was Dean's voice, too, in his head. Sam always had Dean's voice in his head,

"Okay. You trust me so just... Tell me what you remember. From last night." 

Dean's eyes narrowed. He drew himself up to his full height--which was still damn short. “What are you tryin’ to tell me, Sammy? Who do you think you are, playing big brother all’a sudden?”

“Dean. A lot has happened. But what I needed to know, you already told me, so… We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“Of course we will, Sammy. Calm down. C’mon, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Sam laughed, genuine laughter that shook him to the core with what an opportunity this could be, if he just, if he just didn’t mess it up.

For right now, he didn’t need to find an answer. For right now. He would just enjoy this a little longer. Just a little longer.

He crossed the room to Dean and wrapped his pudgy arms around him as far as they would go (about halfway). “It’s a long story, Dean, but I’d love that sandwich.”

“Squirt, when you have a long story, I’ll pay to hear it. That’s the new official rule. Let’s go eat lunch.”


End file.
